Jackrabbit Junction Jitters

by Ann Charles

  “What! How am I going to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Use that brain of yours and figure out a way to keep him from coming in here.”

  “No! You go out there. You’ve known him longer.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who’s been going on picnics with him.”

  Claire, who’d always managed to beat Kate in arm wrestling, leg wrestling, and any other sport where extra pounds offered an unfair advantage, dragged Kate across the room. “Now, work your magic.”

  She shoved Kate out the door.

  Kate whirled around in time to hear the deadbolt click. She closed her eyes, imagining seven different ways she was going to kill Claire as soon as this door didn’t separate them.

  She glanced toward the kitchen. Butch was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear his low voice as he spoke to the cook. Turning back, she rapped on the door lightly with her knuckles.

  “Claire!” she whispered. “Open this damned door before I—”

  “Kate?”

  She froze at the sound of Butch’s voice, knuckles hovering.

  “What are you doing?” He came up behind her.

  Forcing a smile, she turned around. “Looking for you. I need to talk to you.”

  Butch’s gaze drifted down the front of her pink cotton tank top and red shorts, dipping clear down to her white ankle-wrap sandals before cruising back up to her face, his blue eyes suddenly dark, intense. “About what?”

  Ignoring the fluttering in her lungs, Kate made a point of looking toward the kitchen. “It’s kind of private.”

  She stalled while her mind raced, trying to come up with something.

  He closed the gap between them with two steps and reached around her, his arm brushing her hip. “Let’s go in my office.”

  “No!” She fell more than leaned back against the door, barricading it with her body.

  “Why not?” His grin surfaced. “I promise I won’t bite you.”

  He nudged her hip aside and twisted the knob.

  “Huh,” he said under his breath, twisting the knob again. “I swear I left the door unlocked.” His grin faded. “I know I did, because I forgot my keys at home.”

  “Maybe one of your employees locked it for you, thinking you’d forgotten to when you left.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Hold on, I’ll go see if Gary brought his spare key.”

  “Wait!” Kate grabbed Butch’s arm.

  Butch looked at her with raised brows.

  Still holding his arm, she dragged him down the hall to the supply room door. “We can talk in here.”

  “But it’ll just take me a second to get the key.”

  “Trust me, this can’t wait.”

  She flicked on the light and closed the door behind them.

  “What in the hell is so important that you can’t wait two minutes for me to get the spare key?”

  From where Kate stood, she could see Butch’s office door out the window in the supply room door. As she watched, Claire stepped out into the hall.

  Unfortunately, from where Butch stood, he would see Claire slip past them into the kitchen. Her heart in her throat, Kate grabbed Butch by the shoulders and shoved him back against the door.

  Butch frowned down at her. “Did you forget to take your pills tonight, Kate?”

  “No.” She laughed him off with a rattling cackle. Evil witches sounded more sane.

  “All right.” He crossed his arms. “You have me in here. What do you need to tell me?”

  Opening her mouth, she paused, her mind fishing for lies and hauling up nothing but empty nets.

  The sound of the mop handle sliding down the wall and smacking onto the floor made Butch look toward the window.

  No!

  “I need to … uh …” Think of something, moron.

  His focus returned to her. “You need to what, Kate?”

  She had an idea. Standing on her tiptoes, she slipped her hands around the back of his neck.

  “I need to kiss you.” She pulled him down to her and covered his lips with hers.

  So the on-the-fly plan was to kiss him long enough for Claire to slip by unnoticed. There’d be no tongue action, no extraneous touching. And in spite of how good Butch smelled and tasted, Kate ignored all other temptations and stuck to the plan.

  She pulled back after a count of five—well, maybe it was more like seven—and smiled up at Butch, feeling rather pleased with herself. Miss Marple would have patted her on the head.

  Butch stared down at her with a furrowed brow. “What was that?”

  Tucking a loose blonde tendril behind her ear, she said, “A kiss.”

  “Not really.”

  What? “Yes, it was.”

  “Who taught you how to kiss like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a 1940’s movie starlet, all pursed lips and stiffness, no mess and no heat.”

  Kate sputtered. “Well, that wasn’t a real, real kiss. I mean I know how to kiss, trust me. I’ve had my share of practice.”

  “If that’s the end result of all your practicing, your lessons must have really been boring.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Boring? I can assure you that the last thing I’ve ever been called is boring.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Most guys would be happy just to have your lips touching them, even if you are a shitty kisser.”

  A shitty kisser? Kate jammed her hands on her hips. “I am an excellent kisser, Butch Carter, especially when I involve more than just my lips.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Ha! You’re just trying to get another kiss out of me.”

  “Not really. I’d rather go get a burger. I skipped dinner.”

  Kate shoved him back against the door. “Liar.”

  “All right then, Kate. Show me what you got.”

  This time, she went way off plan. She tugged him down to her, pressing against his full length, going in for the kill.

  His lips parted without hesitation when she ran her tongue over them, then she followed with a nip and suck and a tickle. Her tongue found his, coaxing him to play along, which he did with a skill that stole her breath and made her ache for more.

  She let her hands explore his shoulders and arms as she rubbed against the wall of his chest, losing herself in the scent of his cologne, the heat radiating off his skin, the feel of his mouth seducing hers.

  Wait! She was supposed to be running the show. His hands smoothed down her ribs, yanking her hips against his. She moved against him, encouraging, wanting, forgetting where she was and why she was even there for several heavy breath-filled moments.

  Then he groaned against her throat. “Kate, you win.”

  She pulled away, panting, yearning to keep proving him wrong until she’d removed all of their clothing and finished what she’d started.

  “See?” she said between breaths. “That was better, right?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I’d give it a six-point-five on a scale of ten.”

  “What?”

  “Okay, maybe a seven.”

  She glanced down at his fly, confirming what she’d thought she’d felt a moment ago. “Just a seven, huh?”

  “Yeah, but if you want to try for a higher score, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “You are such a—”

  “Butch!” the sound of Gary’s voice leaked through the door. “Phone.”

  With a wink and a tweak of her chin, Butch said, “Let’s try again another time.”

  He left her there in the storage room, her curiosity piqued about “another time.” Then she remembered where she was and why and took off to find her damned sister.

  * * *

  “A shot of Southern Comfort, please,” Claire told Gary as she waited at the bar for Kate to finish dilly-dallying in the store room with Butch.

  She blew out a breath of relief and tossed back the whiskey, gasping as it burned a trail down her esophagus and slammed into the bottom of h
er stomach.

  That had been too damned close. If Kate was going to insist on playing a role in her own Murder, She Wrote episode, she needed to learn how to break-and-enter properly.

  Gary refilled her glass.

  “Good evening, Claire,” said a voice from behind her that she wasn’t in the mood to deal with right then.

  Whiskey sluiced over the edge of the glass and dripped down her fingers. Claire lowered her shot back to the bar, drying her hand on her pants.

  “Hello, Porter.” She faked a smile.

  “Do you know where I can find Kate?”

  Making out with Butch in back. “Umm, no, I sure don’t. I haven’t seen her since I went to the ladies’ room. But she must be around here somewhere.”

  “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

  Hell, yes, she minded. Now that Claire had found the clues in Treasure Island, more than ever she needed Kate to spy on Porter.

  If Kate and Butch walked through the kitchen door together, Porter would probably figure out that they’d been up to some hanky panky, especially since Kate had never been able to keep guilt from advertising on her face.

  “How about a dance instead?” Claire slid off the stool. “I’ve always loved this song.”

  For a split second, Porter’s trademark, white-toothed smile seemed flash frozen on his face; then he blinked and his cheeks relaxed into his usual charming grin. “Sure.”

  Claire led Porter to the far corner of the crowded dance floor where there was no way he could see the kitchen door through all of the cowboy hats.

  Once there, Porter pulled her into his arms.

  “Have you heard from Mac?” he asked in that smooth Texas drawl, his green eyes drilling into hers.

  She’d almost forgotten that as far as Porter knew, Mac had left her high and dry on the side of the road.

  “Yes, actually. We’re trying to work things out.”

  She decided to tell the pseudo truth in case Porter ran into Mac over the weekend—that was, if Mac took a moment away from the Lucky Monk, which was where he’d run off to this evening with a load of two-by-fours, a can of paint, and a long cardboard tube.

  “Really?” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

  Claire wasn’t sure what to make of his reply. Instead of asking, she just stared at his smooth, tan chest exposed by the V-neck of his shirt.

  They circled in silence for several seconds, Claire trying to catch a glimpse of the bar, hoping that Kate was sitting there when the song ended so that Claire could escape Porter’s arms.

  Porter cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about our last conversation.”

  Alarms whooped in Claire’s head. Their last conversation had been the one where she’d found out his knowledge of classic literature could fit into a thimble and she’d caught him lying through his movie star teeth.

  “What about it?”

  “Kate told me you don’t believe I’m really writing a book.”

  “She did?” Claire envisioned stuffing a pair of Chester’s dirty boxers down Kate’s throat.

  “I hadn’t realized at the time that you were quizzing me on classic lit. I’d just assumed we were having a conversation.”

  Claire’s cheeks warmed, but she held her tongue. Short of admitting he was correct, there was nothing else to say.

  “I’d like to apologize for my ineptness. I’d had too many drinks that night, and I found having you so near, after hearing you were free and single again, distracting.”

  That made Claire pause. She pulled back and frowned up at him, not sure she heard him right. “You did?”

  “Of course. Surely, you must remember that it was you I first approached, not your sister.”

  Claire blinked, twice. Could he be serious? Although, he had turned to Kate only after Mac had made an appearance.

  “You take my breath away, Claire.” He grabbed her hand and held it against his chest. “Feel how fast you’ve made my heart beat.”

  His heart thudded against her palm, but didn’t seem any faster than hers, which happened to be busy drumming out a heavy metal music solo in her ears.

  He pulled her tighter against him. His belt buckle dug into her belly button. “Of course I know that Robert Louis Stevenson didn’t write either Jungle Book or Gulliver’s Travels, but when you’re pressed against me like this, all I can think about is taking you to my place and showing you Mac’s shortfalls.”

  Okay, first of all, Mac didn’t have any shortfalls when it came to the bedroom. Second, she needed another shot of whiskey.

  She stared longingly at the bar.

  “Claire, look at me.” He caught her chin.

  “What about Kate?”

  “Your sister is a lovely woman, but she’s not you.”

  Claire held his gaze, trying to read his eyes as sparkles rained down from the disco ball. He had to be playing her.

  “Listen Porter, thanks for the dance and for being so nice to my mother, but—”

  Before she could finish with her brush off, Porter leaned down and kissed her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Jeez, Claire, I can’t believe you kissed Porter,” Kate said to her sister, who sat in the passenger seat of Ruby’s old truck.

  A warm breeze blew in through her open window, tearing at her hair that she’d fixed in the ladies’ room after Butch got her all flutter-pated.

  “Like I told you in the bar,” Claire said, “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me.” She white-knuckled the dashboard. “Damn it, Kate, would you slow down! I’d like to make it home un-mangled.”

  “If you wanted to drive, you shouldn’t have slammed those four shots.” Kate let up on the gas pedal, the scrub bushes at the side of the road no longer just a blur.

  Visibly gulping, Claire stuck her head out the window.

  “He’s supposed to be my boyfriend, you know,” Kate yelled, so that Claire could hear her over the wind.

  Claire pulled her head back inside. “Did I or did I not see you swapping spit with Butch in the supply room tonight?”

  “I was distracting him.” At least that was what Kate kept telling herself.

  “It looked to me like you were using your tongue to measure the inside of his mouth for braces.”

  Her lips tightening at Claire’s smartass remark, Kate swerved unnecessarily to avoid a small pothole. Claire scrambled partway out the window again, where she stayed until Kate parked the pickup in front of Ruby’s place and turned off the ignition.

  “What was it like?” Kate asked as she shut the truck door. Stones crunched under her shoes as she rounded the pickup.

  “What was what like?” Claire stumbled from the cab. “Ugh. Shit.” She leaned back against the side of the truck bed and bent over, her hands planted on her thighs. “I shouldn’t have eaten that whole basket of fried mushrooms.”

  “When you kissed Porter.”

  Had his mouth delivered all that his good looks promised? Did his lips melt her knee joints, make her head float, and leave her clinging to him like a faux leather catsuit—like Butch’s kiss?

  Kate shivered in the warm evening air at the memory of Butch’s touch, goose bumps prickling her arms and neck. She pinched her forearm, dragging her thoughts back from the stars.

  Somehow, she had to get a grip on this foolish crush that had her daydreaming about strolls on the beach and rolls in the hay with the man bent on stealing Ruby’s mine. If she could just find some physical proof … and the brunch he’d invited her to tomorrow morning at his house was just the opportunity she needed to search his home turf.

  “I told you,” Claire said with a smile, “I didn’t kiss him.”

  “Fine, what was it like when Porter kissed you then?”

  Claire peered up at Kate with one eye open. “What are you talking about? You’ve kissed the guy several times already.”

  “Porter has never kissed me that way. All he’s done so far is given me a peck on the lips.” />
  “Well, it wasn’t as bad as when Danny Timberman drooled down my chin.” Standing upright, Claire gripped the door handle with one hand and held her stomach with the other. “Let’s just say Porter has had plenty of practice perfecting the art of kissing, but …” She looked up at the stars and sucked in a couple of deep breaths.

  “But what?” Kate grabbed Claire’s arm as her sister staggered forward and led Claire toward the porch.

  Claire plopped down on the top step and listed until she came to rest against the rail. “But he’s not Mac.”

  Groaning, Kate dropped onto the steps next to Claire.

  “Even drunk you can’t stop blathering about Mac. You might as well hang up your rope and spurs for good, cowgirl, because you’ve done tamed your last stallion.”

  A mooning smile spread across Claire’s face. “Have I told you what Mac can do with his tongue?”

  “No!” Kate covered Claire’s mouth with her hand. “I don’t want to hear the details of your love life and then have to sit across from Mac at the dinner table.”

  “I do.” Manny said.

  Kate jerked in surprise, then whirled around and squinted into the shadowed porch. A match flared to life. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Eavesdropping.” Chester answered for Manny. The red butt of a cigar glowed for a moment, the smell of cigar smoke reaching her. “Now let Claire talk. I could use some new tricks. My arthritis hasn’t reached my tongue yet.”

  Kate winced at the image that popped into her head.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Manny’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “Claire and Porter kissed?”

  Claire moaned and flopped back onto the porch floorboards.

  “That’s none of your business.” Kate frowned down at Claire.

  “I thought he was your boyfriend,” Chester said.

  “Claire must be trying to steal him away from Kate, si?”

  “Ah. Cat fight.” Chester meowed. “Are you going to tell Mac?”

  “Of course not.” Kate glanced at Claire. “Are we?”

  Claire rolled her head back and forth on the wood boards. “Not on purpose.”

  Squinting at the two old men, Kate said, “You two had better keep your mouths shut about this, or I’ll tell Ruby about that hidden video camera.”